


Safe Places

by aalisse



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Christmas, Christmas Eve, Christmas Fluff, Domestic, Domestic Fluff, First Kiss, Fluff and Angst, Getting Together, Headcanon, Lectures, Letters, M/M, Magical Creatures, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Nifflers, Plants, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Speculation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-13
Updated: 2017-01-03
Packaged: 2018-09-08 08:39:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,401
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8837866
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aalisse/pseuds/aalisse
Summary: Basically I have lots of headcanons and speculations about these two, so I'm planning this to be a series of domestic drabbles, not really focused on anything in particular except for the relationship between the two. For now, it's about them living in Graves' apartment for two weeks and  Percival putting his life together.It's also about Newt's letters, Percy slowly falling in love, Christmas Eve and the first kiss.(Also leave your suggestions in the comments, if you want c:)





	1. Percival's apartment (or the one where Newt visits for the first time)

Percival is organized. Everything in his stylish bachelor flat has its own place and purpose - he just doesn't own useless things. Even the decorative objects that he has lying around on the shelves of the bookcases, on his desk and on the fireplace - they're all perfect for the aesthetic of the general apartment design, and each have a very specific reason to be where they are. He's had them all charmed in one way or another, ages ago.

Some are charmed to keep the books from aging. Some are for letting him know if he’s forgotten something. Some are for showing if he’s in any danger. Some mind things like keeping up the acceptable temperature in the rooms - because it's easier to charm an object to do that than cast spells by hand every time.

But most of the objects carry protective spells that work against intruders.

After being hospitalized for a couple of months, he's returned to his apartment, where he's spent vast majority of the last year being either asleep or having some highly unpleasant, often either painful or humiliating interactions with the darkest wizard of all time.

As expected, Percival found himself unable to fall asleep in his own bedroom - and even when he managed, waking up was absolutely awful, because every time his instantly alarmed brain spat out a suggestion that maybe, just maybe the past months had all been a pleasant, but highly unrealistic dream that was too good to be true.

So, after a week of waiting for things to get better and for the memories to go away, he decided that he didn't want to wait anymore.

He was sitting on the edge of the bathtub, trying to calm down and breathe, his fists clenched and his eyes fixed on the floor tiles, because he accidentally saw his own face in the mirror at an angle that was flattering enough to make him look healthy and collected. He hadn't looked like that since the second week of his imprisonment, but Grindelwald - he made a point of making Graves' body look well-rested, well-fed and confident of every move it made, especially when he visited his prisoner.

Percival didn't blame himself and didn't consider himself weak for any of the things that he was experiencing - he's always been a rational, realistic person, he saw victims of abuse and torture before, so he knew he wasn't at fault.

So, sitting on the edge of the bath, he looked at the problem from a very practical point of view - he decided to go with what he had and do what he could to make his life more bearable.

He didn't want to move from the apartment. He didn't want to run from his old life and from the things that reminded him of the incident, because then, by that logic, he should've resigned and moved to Australia or Japan or something.

He didn't want Gellert Grindelwald to take his life away from him.

So, moving wasn't an option. Moving furniture, on the other hand, didn't seem like too much of a change, but did help a lot. This way, when he woke up, he knew for sure that what he remembered was real. He’s also changed the wallpaper, because the pattern reminded him of staring blankly at the wall, shuddering after another visit of his captor.

He's also put some curtain-like cloth on all the mirrors – he had one in the hallway, right in front of the front door, and after the first time he entered the flat lost in thought, and looked up to see a familiar man standing in front of him, he found that his auror reflexes weren’t as rusty as he thought they might have been. After he’s cleaned up the broken glass, it only made sense to take control of seeing his reflection when he wanted and expected to do so.

None of that helped with the falling asleep bit, though. Logically, he knew that he's put so many protective spells on the flat that all the aurors of the MACUSA combined wouldn't be able to get in without his permission. But that knowledge was purely theoretical, and his subconscious wanted to have at least some physical proof that he was safe.

And that's how he found himself buying new decorative objects for his flat's interior and charming them into powerful guarding artifacts.

He's also made one that made his apartment smell like his childhood house on the evenings when his mom baked an apple pie and his cousins brought home colorful bouquets of wild flowers.

Basically he's made his flat as homelike and as protected as he could manage without actually getting either a pet dragon or Madam President for a wife.

 

 

Thing is, though, Newt Scamander isn't organized.

In fact, the more time he spends somewhere, the less organized the place itself becomes - and when he arrived to New York and Percival invited him to stay at his place as a thank you for playing a major part is his rescue, in a week's time the magizoologist's managed to make a complete cluttered mess out of the flat.

Percival's found Occamy' eggs and a very concerned demiguise in his sock drawer. All his non-protective shiny possessions somehow ended up in the niffler's nest, even though Newt swore he didn't let the creature loose this time. Somehow his kitchen became a place out of some jungle fantasy, because there was some "incident" in Newt's suitcase and he had to evacuate some plants for a while.

And, to be honest, Graves didn't want to know anything about anything that went on down there. It was probably illegal and almost definitely dangerous, and he just didn't want to deal with that at the moment - not with the absolute mess of a paperwork that was left for him to make sense of, because apparently Grindelwald wasn't cut out for an office work. It was a true miracle he didn't lose Percival's job, really.

When he told Newt about that, the magizoologist chuckled softly into his mug of tea. They were sitting in the kitchen, surrounded by lush exotic plants, and Percival was drinking coffee because it was Saturday morning and he hasn't woken up properly yet.

"What's funny?" - He asked, frowning in confusion at the magizoologist, who looked at him for a split second, before averting his eyes again and smiling softly.

"Well you know," - he gestured with his mug, - "I'm, not a... Let's just say I had to get away from Merlin knows how many awkward situations, but to- to bullshit your way through a year of being a Director in the Ministry AND manage to engage in world destroying activities - you really do have to be an evil genius. Probably a constantly panicked one, as well."

Percival snorted into his coffee ungracefully, because an image of that bastard trying to figure out what the hell all the bloody forms in front of him mean, and then trying to think of an excuse for Madame President as he's screaming internally - that was too good. In that moment he felt like the heavy rock that's been sitting on his heart had been lifted just a bit. That same feeling he got when he casted his first Ridiculus on a boggart.

That was probably the first moment he realized that he liked the fact that Newt was there.

The second one had dawned on him when he came back home from work one day, opened a front door and was greeted by green leaves sticking out from the kitchen, a loud noise of something falling and breaking, a smell of baked goods that weren’t his mother's apple pie, one of his vinyl jazz records playing one of his favorite melodies, and Newt's thin silhouette getting on his knees and fumbling with the fallen something on the floor.

Graves stepped into the flat, closed a door behind himself and leaned against it, trying too examine the feeling that had bloomed in his chest. It was so weird to have all of that at his place. It was so different from what he was used to, and normally the whole thing would annoy Percival immensely. But now, he realized, now it was exactly what he needed. The plants in the kitchen, the jazz played without his permission and somebody - preferably kind and awkward and as far from Gellert as possible - alive just being there when he gets home. And some daily little problems to keep him from thinking too much.

Basically, Newt was probably the most calming happy thing that's happened to him since he's returned home.

"Oh, Percival, I'm so sorry," - Graves blinked at Newt who approached him with some broken glass in his hands. - "I think I've broken your- uh- this. I promise I'll replace it, I hope it didn't carry any- any sentimental value..?"

Percival sighed quietly. He was tempted to reach out and pull Newt into a grateful hug at that moment, but resorted to waving him off and telling him that it was no big deal and he didn't need to worry about that at all. He then pushed himself from the door and took his coat off, falling back into the usual evening routine and asking Newt what that smell was. He then had a lovely time eating a Niffler bun and listening about Mr. Kowalski, who was apparently dating Mrs. Goldstein's sister. He swallowed a remark about marriage between them not being legal and the chance of the baker discovering magic being very high. Instead, he nodded, drank some milk, ate another bun and in a couple of hours went to sleep early because he felt nice and content and like that night would be one of those without the nightmares. It was better - he dreamed about a bakery and a bunch of kids and about Newt smiling happily while eating something that looked like a hippogriff.

When Newt finally decided to leave New York and come back to England, Graves was the one helping him pack and carrying the plants back into the suitcase and making sure that all the creatures were in place and not terrorizing the city.

He was also the one to walk Newt to the docks and stand in front of him and tell him to please not die somewhere trying to rescue a magical rabbit from the local Bad People.

Percival expected a smile, but Newt looked at him strangely, holding an eye contact for too long by Newt standards.

"I'll try not to," - he said, lowering his gaze and smiling just a little.

"Please," - Graves nodded. He forced himself not to make a pause before saying: - "You can't imagine the things I owe you. I want to be able to repay you some day, and for that I want you alive and well."

Newt looked at him again, his smile disappearing.

"You don't-"

"Like I said, you can't imagine," - Percival repeated. The magizoologist looked at him for a bit more, then nodded and looked away again. Graves smiled at that and put his hand on Newt's shoulder gently. - "Write me if you have time," - he asked in a softer tone, brushing some dust off the wizard's shoulder.

Newt nodded again.

He shifted his weight from one foot to another, took one last glance at Percival's face - and just like that, he was off. Walked up on a ship, showed his ticket to a grumpy old man in a uniform. When he looked back, Graves waved a little. A grumpy man said something, Newt took his ticket and went up, disappearing from sight.

Percival sighed gently, content, and put his hand back into the pocket.

He thought about returning to an empty apartment again - and decided that maybe he should go visit that bakery first. And talk to Tina. And maybe get some real friends besides colleagues and relatives who don't really care about him. And maybe a pet.

After all, Percival's always been a very practical, rational person - and if he knew that something was missing from his life, he was going to go and get it. Right at that moment he knew he was missing people who actually cared.

And maybe Newt Scamander's permanent presense in his life.

Mostly that.


	2. The letters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The one about Newt's letters and Percival's lectures.

After Newt leaves New York, Percival receives a lot of letters from him - often from very different countries, with very different flying creatures to deliver them.

* * *

Sometimes it's about how Newt's failed.

 

_"I know I can't save everyone, Percival. I know, but every time I can't help thinking that maybe, if I tried harder, I would've succeeded and the innocent creature would get to live. I know I'm being hard on myself, but it's not like it's a choice - I don't want to, but somehow I always end up lying awake in the middle of the night thinking about what I could do differently. I hope you don't understand, but something's telling me you probably do."_

 

Those letters make Graves sigh, let his shoulders drop and lean heavily against the back of his chair. He never really knows how to reply. Of course he understands - like all aurors, like all people who save lives for a living. Sometimes you make mistakes and someone dies - that's a part of the job. You have to make peace with it, or the guilt and helplessness eat you alive.

But it's easy to say - make peace with your own imperfection. Graves still struggles to believe that there really was no opportunity to run, to fight back, to at least die and not give Grindelwald the pleasure of walking around with his face.

He doesn't write that last bit. Instead, he picks up a quill and tries to look at the situation reasonably. Somehow, that makes him a little irritated.

 

_"I don't mean to offend you, Mr. Scamander, but you aren't the God Almighty, so stop trying to take his responsibilities of controlling everyone and everything upon your shoulders. Imagine your dear Bowtruckle being sad for not being able to lift a Nundu off the ground. That's how ridiculous you are. I understand the feeling, and the desire to be a perfect savior, but you really need to remind yourself that you aren't and will never become one. It doesn't mean you shouldn't try, of course. But remember - don't blame the Bowtruckle for not being able to lift the Nundu."_

 

Strangely enough, that makes him feel better as well. He hopes Newt won't stop talking to him after this, and even more he hopes that Newt will feel better too.

A week later, an owl drops a note on his desk. It says:

 

_"You are a rude and insufferable man, Mr. Graves._

_Thank you. – NS”._

 

Percival smiles.

* * *

Sometimes it's about Newt's childhood.

 

_"Dougal is a bit nervous lately. He's being invisible a lot, and it's a little like playing a very hard hide and seek game just to give him some food, every day. I remember when we played with Theseus - you'd be surprised, but he wasn't too good at hiding - I once got lost in the little forest near our house. I was very little and frightened for my life - picked up a stick and just ran in the direction where I thought our home was. When I heard an unexpected noise, I threw a stick without thinking - and accidentally hit my father in the face. I thought he'd be angry with me. Instead, I think he was proud."_

 

Percival blinks at the text in front of him. After that, it just carries on rumbling about the Mooncalves and their dancing habits. Newt doesn't mention it again, doesn't explain why he wrote it in the first place.

So Graves decides not to mention it either. He just puts the letter into the box with the others and in his reply he shares a story about his mom letting him help on the kitchen once when he was nine. He ended up making very burnt cookies. She still ate one and told him that he did well. He almost writes "I miss her sometimes," but stops mid-sentence and goes with "I miss her baking. Especially the apple pie."

In his next letter Newt tells him to go make friends with Queenie, because she's an excellent cook, and, if he has a recipe, he can try to bribe her into baking it for him.

Percival does actually try that. It turns out that simple genuine compliments, a fond mention of Newt in his thoughts and a memory of the pie are more than enough to persuade her.

She brings Tina along, when they come to his apartment with packages of ingredients. Queenie's charming chattering and Tina's small smile when she and Percival both try to help are surprisingly nice.

When they all sit at the table and try their creation, the Goldstein sisters seem to like it, exchanging the delighted looks, and Percival thinks it's exactly like he remembers.

It takes him a minute to place the feeling that's risen in his chest after he took the first bite - and then he gets it. He feels like home.

 When he looks up, Queenie smiles at him. He smiles back.

* * *

Sometimes it's about the new creature Newt's adopted.

 

_"I may have accidentally befriended another Nundu. And I think I might have to keep her, or she will eat a village nearby - but it's okay, because everybody in the case likes her and she's very nice and friendly, and I think she likes Derek (the other Nundu) in a romantic way. I hope you'll get a chance to meet her."_

 

Percival shudders. He sure hopes otherwise.

 

 _"If they make more little Nundu's, I'm not letting you in New York. And I'm not coming closer than a hundred feet away from your suitcase,"_ \- he writes.

 _"Not even if I let you pet them?"_ \- Newt asks in his next letter. - _"I promise they are just like very big cats. Absolutely harmless. And they purr, too!"_

 

Percival sighs.

 

 _"If I find more than two Nundu's in your suitcase, I'm arresting you on the spot, Mr. Scamander,"_ \- he writes.

 _"You are a boring man, Director Graves,"_ \- the reply says.

 

There is a crossed out word before the phrase, and Percival has to look very closely to read what was written there. When he does, he actually laughs out loud, startling some poor soul walking by his office.

It says " _Kinky_ ".

* * *

Sometimes it's about something illegal.

 

_"I'm sorry you haven't heard of me for a while. You see, I may have nearly died and broke 27 Russian laws to catch a kneasel? Please don't send a howler."_

 

Percival actually groans, rubbing his face with his hands. He tried not to be too worried about Newt, but it's been nearly four weeks now, and this is the explanation he gets? He's been getting sympathetic glances from his colleagues, that's how bad it got, and all he gets is "Don't send a howler".

He doesn't send a howler. He only writes one phrase:

 

_"Where do I meet you exactly two weeks from now?"_

* * *

Sometimes it's about something that he thinks Percival might like.

The reply he gets says:

 

_"If you have a portkey to Paris, maybe meet me there? I'll be near Louvre at 6 p.m. on Friday, the 10th - I hear they've opened a new wing for the wizarding paintings only. Someone actually made a magical reproduction of Van Gogh's paintings! I think it has to be amazing."_

 

Graves looks at the calendar and swears. He then looks at the clock and swears again, this time a bit more desperate.

* * *

After ten minutes of fumbling with his coat, two minutes of trying to remember which portkey was the right one, and then half an hour of running through the French Ministry of Magic and apparating to Louvre - he nearly pushes Newt to the ground, stumbling ungracefully into his arms, because apparently he really needs more long-distance apparating practice. That's what office work does to you.

"Sorry," - Newt says, pushing Graves away and steadying him, not meeting his eyes. Then he looks closely at the suit in front of him, and, when he looks up, there's a grin on his face. - "You've made it," - he says, and Percival feels his own face trying to betray him and tug his lips into a smile. He resists it as best as he can. He is here for a reason. - "I was worried that the letter got lost, but..."

Graves cuts him off.

"Newt, I'm not here for the pleasantries," - he says.

"Oh," - the magizoologist blinks. - "Has something-"

"Yes. You happened to disappear for almost a month and nearly die, by your own words."

"Oh Merlin's beard," - Newt sighs. He pinches the bridge of his nose. - "Look, I'm sorry, I-"

"Newt," - Graves says calmly. This is the kind of calm you can see right before the storm breaks - and Newt has to hear that, because he falls silent, his eyes on Graves. - "Considering your priorities don't include your own health, I'll have to remind you of your responsibilities. You have a case full of creatures who need you, Newt. And, if you think that you get to just die and dump it on someone else - believe me, there is nobody as good as you. Not a single magizoologist is good enough to take care of those creatures - I've been looking for consultants all over the world, and none of them are as good. And even if you do find the right person, it'll take two days to read your writing because it's absolutely terrible, and another week to find anything in your suitcase. You owe something to the ones you save."

Newt lowers his gaze to the pavement, so Percival straightens his back and takes a more official tone.

"I know it's none of my business, Mr. Scamander, and I can't tell you what to do with your life, but I've grown to care about you," - Newt jerks, his lips a thin line, - "and about your creatures for that matter. So I have to ask: if not for yours, or mine, or Tina and Queenie's sake, at least be careful for them. Please."

Newt breathes out slowly. Then looks up.

"You do realize I'm not your auror subordinate, Director" - he says softly.

"I do. You aren't. If you were, I'd cut your salary in half," - that makes Newt smile for a moment. Percival sighs. - "Unfortunately, all I can do is ask you nicely."

"Well it doesn't really sound like you're asking nicely, Mr. Graves," - Newt says, looking up at him with a smile. At least he isn't angry.

"I said please. And I'm not taking you to the French aurors, am I," - Percival points out.

"Fair enough."

They are silent for a couple of seconds. Then Newt sighs and looks at him.

"I know I'm responsible for them, Percival" - he says. - "But you're wrong. I do have a plan in case something happens. If I don't touch a case for longer than three days, it teleports to a magizoologist in India. She will take care of the creatures."

Percival sighs and looks up at the sky. Well, it was worth a try.

"However," - Newt says, - "I didn't know you... cared. I knew that- I knew that you wouldn't be happy if I- but I didn't know you cared this much. I'm sorry I made you feel bad," - he says, his voice soft. The apology is genuine, Percival knows, but...

"It's not the point, Newt," - he says, feeling a little helpless.

"Yes, but it is the reason why you're here," - Newt looks up. - "I'll try to be more careful."

Graves frowns.

"Because I care?"

"You and Tina. She sent a howler," - Percival huffs a laugh at that. Newt nods. - "I don't want any more lectures, and I don't want to upset the- I mean my- you. You two."

Percival smiles, though on his unpracticed face it's more of a smirk.

"You mentioned Van Gogh in Louvre," - he says pointedly.

"If you're done scolding me," - Newt chuckles and picks up his suitcase.

"I am, and I hope I'll never get to do it again - it's rather frustrating. Oh, by the way." - Newt looks up at him, eyes questioning - "Do you have plans for Christmas and New Year's?"

"Not New Year's, I don't think. Christmas is a family one, I suppose I'll have to be at home. Why?"

Percival hesitates only for a moment.

"Would you like to come to New York then? You can stay with me again, if you want."

Newt's face actually lights up. He doesn't grin full force, but the way his eyes widen and his lips tug up in a smile - that's everything to Percival.

"I'd love that," - Newt says softly. - "Thank you, Percy."

Graves nods. He ignores the warm and mushy feeling in his chest. He also ignores the way his hands buzz with the desire to tug the lanky figure in front of him into a hug. Instead, he touches Newt's shoulder invitingly, and walks with him towards the entrance of the museum.


	3. The obligatory Christmas one

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's about Percival cooking, Newt showing up uninvited, and a kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now with a quick illustration of Percival cooking:   
> https://pp.vk.me/c638330/v638330087/1c8c2/j4PsYWfQpKw.jpg

A week before Christmas Percival sends Newt a festive card that says:  
  
" _Dear Newt,_  
_Merry Christmas. I hope you'll get decent presents and have a good time with your family. I'm looking forward to seeing you on New Year's - if you haven't changed your mind, that is. I've already arranged to get some wine (I remember you're more fond of it than of champagne). It's illegal for the no-maj's here, but I don't think it'll hurt too much. Please give Theseus his card, if you see him, and tell him he's just as insufferable as you are when it comes to replying on time. Go straight to my office when you arrive - I'll give you your present and the permits for whatever it is that you have in your suitcase this time._  
_Merry Christmas once more. Have fun._  
_\- Yours, Percival._ "  
  
He doesn't plan anything celebratory, not really - he doesn't even have a proper Christmas tree at home, he only has a few branches with some garlands on them. And, when the day comes, he just leaves work early (as encouraged by Tina and Madame Picquery who practically kick him out of his office) and goes home.   
  
Percival puts on some jazz and magics fire into the fireplace. He undresses, leaving only suit pants and a shirt on, and goes to the kitchen to cook a meal for himself, enjoying the warm atmosphere of the evening. He opens one of the two bottles of wine that he's acquired for New Year's and drinks half a glass of it while he's busy with the stove.  
  
A couple of months ago he got into an accident that made him unable to use magic for a day - one of the occupational hazards, really, you never know what might happen. He was thankful that he was still alive, but it didn't keep him from being terrified of his own helplessness. Being a great friend, Tina invited him to stay with them for the day. Unfortunately, both of the Goldsteins were a touch too busy to prepare some food, so Percival, feeling useless just sitting around, tried to prepare dinner for them the no-maj way. Needless to say it was a disaster and they ended up with burnt rise and an undercooked chicken, but still, he found it to be an interesting experience. A challenging one.   
  
Now, after countless attempts to cook this way, he finds it quite pleasant. It strangely calms him to have something to do by hand. Plus it's not too different from brewing potions - the only real difference is that the outcome is guaranteed not to turn you into a frog, even if you screw up really bad.   
  
This inspired him to experiment more. Now, when he has time, he likes to sweep the floors while listening to his vinyl records and wash the dishes enjoying the feeling of warm water on his hands. It is admittedly surprising for one of the most powerful wizards of New York to enjoy these kinds of activities, but thing is, it gets his mind to drift away with the sounds of music, not letting him to overthink and keeping him grounded while his hands are preoccupied with something useful.   
  
It's been a year since he was freed from his captivity, yet he still needs some things to keep him at bay. Not all of them, of course - for example, one of his victories had been taking the cloth off the mirrors. But things like visiting the Goldstein sisters and Jacob's bakery every week - those he wants and likes, but also needs.   
  
It took him a while to admit it to himself, but deep down he's still afraid that one day he'll be gone and nobody will notice. He makes sure to develop some friendly relationships at work as well - the Heads of other Departments are mostly fond of him now, even though sometimes they get into passive-aggressive conversations about the budget cuts and such. Madame President, who he's considered the closest person to call a friend before, now invites him for a drink every now and then to chat about work and gossip about their coworkers.   
  
His subordinates are still terrified of him, of course. He makes a point of being calm, strict and unforgiving of mistakes, making sure to stick to the most effective kind of authority there is - the one that speaks with silence. It was one of the reasons Grindelwald wasn't recognized as an imposter, but it still works well enough to be worth keeping. At first Percival was uncomfortable, because his subordinates felt guilty and scared and untrusting - but soon he realized that he could use the way his people viewed him to his advantage. He used his guilt to make them work harder, putting their desire to redeem themselves to good use - that helped both the aurors and their cause. He used their fear to discipline them - all the reports since had been done with little to no mistakes, all their operations so efficient that they've managed to cut crime initiative in half. And the whole time Graves was in the middle of it all, always in the front rows, leading by example, soon earning the trust of his people back. Now the Magical Security Department works better than ever - all thanks to Grindelwald. He's still imprisoned safely and interrogated by professionals regularly despite all objections from Albus Dumbledore. Percival even thinks of paying him a visit one day to thank him wholeheartedly, but: first - he isn't stupid, so he won't see his abuser until he's absolutely sure he's ready, and second - he kind of doesn't want to jinx it.  
  
Percival finishes preparing his meal when he hears a knock on his front door. He wipes his hands on a kitchen towel and glimpses at the watch on the wall. The glass isn't red, so he knows he's not in any danger, yet he still casually draws a wand as he walks towards the entrance.   
  
"I'm not expecting any guests," - he says, the door still closed.   
  
"I... Really?" - The sound is muffled, but the genuine surprise can still be heard. The voice is familiar, but it's a bit too quiet for Percival to put a finger on who it belongs to.   
  
"Yes," - he says flatly.   
  
"Sorry, I just thought I'd interrupt a family gathering or-or something. You're celebrating Christmas by yourself?"  
  
"How is it your business, exactly?" - Percival asks. - "And who are you, for that matter?"  
  
"Well, you see, I'm your friend, so I care for you being happy, and I suppose Christmas spent alone isn't something that would make a person too happy."  
  
Percival frowns in confusion. Kowalski has no idea where he lives, the Goldsteins don't celebrate Christmas, Madame President is probably with her family... and that's it. He doesn't have any more friends to expect. Unless...  
  
He opens the door.   
  
He is met by a bright smile, a pair of shining eyes and a bad posture.  
  
"Newt," - Graves says. It is meant to be a greeting, but still comes out surprised, because Mr. Scamander is probably the last person Graves expected to show up at his doorstep on Christmas Eve.   
  
Magizoologist nods, smiling at him. His shoulders and hair are covered with snow, his nose a little red from the cold. The ever-present suitcase is clutched in his hand.  
  
"After months two howlers you'd think one would remember the voice of the sender," - he says cheekily, making Graves huff out a laugh. - "Merry Christmas, Percival."  
  
"Believe it or not, this is the best present I could've hoped for," - Graves says, opening his arms, his smile wide. Newt steps in and they share a warm hug, Newt apologizing for being cold and wet into Percival's shoulder, and Percival chuckling and tightening the embrace a little before letting Newt go and stepping away to let him into the apartment.   
  
"How come you're here and not with your parents?" - he asks, waving the suitcase into its usual spot from when its owner lived here and closing the door, as Newt takes off his coat.  
  
"Oh, they don't want my creatures there," - Newt says, his tone cheerful as ever. - "They're having some kind of gathering with their friends and Theseus is planning to propose to his girlfriend, so Mum, politely and gently as she could, asked me not to show up and spoil everything with my suitcase of beasts who could get out any minute."   
  
He turns to Percival, who's standing there, his expression unreadable and his posture tense, hand still on a wand that he's been putting away before stopping to look at Newt in confusion.   
  
"Don't worry, it's not the first time," - Newt says, bending down to take off his shoes. Graves puts his hands on his hips, his whole being sending a clear message that Newt isn't helping. - "I mean they have a good reason to be worried that my creatures are going to ruin the fun. Last time I showed up at an important meeting the Niffler got out." - Newt straightens up again and looks at Percival. - "Leaving the suitcase with somebody on such short notice is a bad idea, too. So," - he spreads his arms, - "here I am."  
  
Percival breathes in slowly, looking up at the ceiling, as if asking the higher powers to give him strength not to go have a word with Newt's family. He could say hi to Theseus, as well. And congratulate him on his engagement. And meet his fiancée. Merlin, the more he thinks about it the more appealing the idea sounds.  
  
The higher powers politely ignore him, so he breathes out and looks at Newt.   
  
"I could watch over the suitcase," - he says, carefully keeping his tone calm and steady. - "I have a portkey to London in my office, so, if you still want to go, I'll go get it."  
  
Newt blinks at that. He lowers his gaze, rubbing at his neck, thoughtful. Percival waits patiently, pretending he isn't interested in Newt's decision at all.   
  
"Actually, I think I'd rather stay, if that's alright by you," - Newt says, glancing up at Graves. - "I don't like parties."  
  
"Oh thank Merlin," - Graves breathes out, making Newt laugh brightly. - "Come, the dinner's almost ready," - Percival says, gesturing to the kitchen.   
  
"Oh, you're making it the interesting way," - Newt says, following the delicious smell. - "I've always been fascinated by the way the muggles cook."  
  
The kitchen smells absolutely fantastic. The duck is already on the table - Percival is realistic about not being able to eat a whole turkey by himself - along with mashed potato and eggnog. Newt crouches in front of the oven to look at the pie in there.   
  
"My mother used to bake like this," - Percival says, opening the oven slightly to have a look himself. - "It's complicated and frustrating at times, but still rewarding in the end. Move," - the last word is an order, so Newt scrambles to his feet as Percival bends to take the pie out.   
  
"It smells really nice," - the magizoologist says. - "Exactly like that thing you used to have. What happened to it?"  
  
"Changed it to the smell of the sea," - Percival puts the pie on the table and turns to Newt. - "It became kind of pointless when I learned how to make it myself."   
  
"Well, if it's as delicious as it smells, I'm really suggesting you resign  and open a pie shop," - the magizoologist says, making Graves chuckle.   
  
"It's always nice to know I have something to fall back onto," - he says. Then waves his hand at the cabinets above the counter, making the plates and silverware float out and onto the table in the dining room. The dishes, glasses and an opened wine bottle follow suit. - "Come on," - he says, - "and don't worry, if you get poisoned by the wine, I'll avenge you."

 

* * *

 

  
"Five. Five Nundu," - Percival says flatly.   
  
They're sitting in front of the fireplace, each in a comfortable chair, the kind that embraces you with its cushions and you don't want to get out of it ever. The dinner was nice, Newt genuinely complimenting Percival's talent and every dish he tasted. Now, full and content and the slightest bit lightheaded with wine, they are looking at the fire. Well. Newt is content. Percival is on the verge of standing up and charming the suitcase closed with the strongest of the charms he knows. Just in case, no pun intended.  
  
"They are all born in captivity, never exposed to the breath of a grown Nundu, so they aren't poisonous at all," - Newt says into his wine glass. - "So, really, they aren't even nearly as deadly as two wild Nundu. They can barely count as one."  
  
Percival heroically suppresses a desire to hide his face in his hands and groan loudly until he's out of breath. Instead, he sighs.   
  
"You know what," - he says. - "Fine. I'll make you a permit, even though technically it's not possible. Consider it my Christmas gift to you. For how long are you planning to stay?"   
  
"I don't really know. Until New Year's, I think, if that's alright. I may visit my family, congratulate - or console - Theseus and say hi to Father and Mom."   
  
"I'll see what I can do," - Percival nods. - "And you can stay for as long as you want, it's my pleasure, really."  
  
Newt blushes a little, his smile turning sheepish.   
  
"And if I want to stay for longer than the New Year's?" - He asks, his tone teasing.   
  
Percival's answer is completely serious, even though he's smiling a little.   
  
"Then you stay for longer," - he says calmly, catching Newt's gaze. - "I mean it - as long as you want."  
  
Newt nods, a smile a little more confident.   
  
There's a pause, when they sip their wine, each thinking of their own things.   
  
"Do you want to know a secret?" - Newt asks after a minute.  
  
"Sure."  
  
"I never thought that I would have a friend like you one day."  
  
Percival looks at him, surprised. Newt is sitting with his legs tucked under him, cupping the glass with both of his hands, not meeting his eyes and looking at his lap instead.   
  
"When I was at school," - he says, - "I had a friend. Leta. She was... she was nice, the first couple of years. We were best friends, Leta and I." - he breathes deeply and sips his wine, then looks at the fire. - "She took, and I gave. I gave her my help, when she was in trouble. My support, when she felt down. My first kiss, when she wanted to practice. And she only took and took, and when I got in trouble, she... She always turned away, or found an excuse, or made it look like she didn't know what I was talking about when I was asking for help." - He glances at Percival and smiles shortly. - "Point is, I'm really thankful to you for not- not being like her."  
  
Percival breathes in slowly, because sucking in a sharp breath isn't an option, no matter how much he wants to do just that. He feels like he's burning from the inside - the warmth that he's usually felt when Newt was being... well, Newt - now it is almost burning, and although it isn't painful by itself, his chest still hurts. Mostly because it's painful to try and contain a small-sized star in your chest without letting it shine.

He looks at Newt, who is, thankfully, watching the flames of fire, reflected in his wine.

Percival breathes out.

"Leta was a shitty friend, Newt," - he says, making the magizoologist chuckle. - "And you deserve so much better than her. Better than me too, I suppose." - That makes Newt look up at him with interest, confusion and instant denial, his shoulders stiffening and his back straightening a little. He doesn't say anything, just waiting for continuation, but ready to argue, which is flattering, but not deserved, not really. Percival continues, his voice serious and calm. - "I'm not being self-deprecating, Newt. I just think that you deserve someone who would go with you - just drop everything and go save those creatures, be your companion, be a shoulder to lean on. Someone who would be there to get you out of trouble instead of scolding you for getting into it after it's already over. Someone who would..." - he waves his hand, because he can't say the words that are implied.

"Someone who would what?" - Newt asks quietly, and Percival looks at him. The magizoologist's expression is a little sad, but mostly there's softness in his eyes that Graves' only seen there before when Newt looked at his creatures.   
  
But that's not it. There's something else there. Hope, maybe.

No, Newt is waiting for something.  
  
Suddenly, like a bucket of cold water, it dawns on Percival: he already knows. He's known for a while, probably. And now he's waiting for him to say it out loud, to make it official, to give him a chance to say it back - and it hurts even more, because Percival really, really can't.   
  
"You deserve someone who wouldn't have to quit their job, or ask you to do it, in order to be at your side," - he says, his tone sadder than he's intended for it to be.   
  
There's a pause.

Percival can't bring himself to look at Newt, so he looks at the glass in his hands instead.

He doesn't want to think what's going to happen next, but the simple facts are already there, in the back of his mind, cruelly obvious. He knows that the morning will be awkward. That Newt's going to write less and less before stopping completely. That he will feel shattered for at least a month and that Queenie will know the moment she sees him.

Percival wants to hide his face in his hands and just sit like that until morning.   
  
"My brother says that the most important time in a relationship is the first three or four months," - Newt says suddenly, making Graves look at him, surprised. - "You have to see each other frequently to show your affection. Then it becomes less fiery and more stable, so you can spend more time apart - not too much, of course. Maybe a week at a time." - He looks at Percival, serious and collected, no trace of an awkward wizard to be seen, only a confident magizoologist in his place. - "I've been thinking of taking a break. Get an actual job, maybe. Write a second book. Does MACUSA still need a consultant?"  
  
Percival feels his cheeks hurt before he can even register that he's smiling.  
  
"Yes," - he says, and to his surprise he feels his eyes getting a bit prickly. - "Yes, it's in desperate need of one."  
  
Newt returns his grin, the softness back in his eyes. 

The clock in the corner chimes twelve, making them turn their heads.

Before Newt looks back, in one fluid motion Percival rises from his chair and steps in front of him. When the magizoologist turnes back, the auror smiles, offering him a hand that Newt takes without a second thought, grinning back at him. Percival helps him up to his feet. 

"Merry Christmas, Mr. Consultant," - the auror says. They're so close Percival can see the fireplace reflected in the other wizard's eyes.   
  
Newt gives him a look.

And kisses him.


End file.
